Writings and things.

2 Poems

Originally appeared in Caper Literary Journal

A Poet’s Fodder

We live among them
checking their blood pressures,
appraising their homes,
sliding their groceries over
plates of glass, and they let
themselves believe this is all
we are, like our lives stop
when they can no longer see us,
even as we study them, jot
notes when they leave,
scribble verse on breaks,
even as we fill our note
books with their descriptions
and our imaginations with
things they may never do, even as

we fail to imagine
they may be taking notes
on us, submitting poems to the same
journals, publishing
on the same pages, where we are
recognizable to each other
only as metaphor and imagery
and the handshake we shared
at the hardware store.

_____________________________

Through the Mulch, Boldly

If daffodils could have
swagger, my daffodils
would be John fucking
Wayne, punching his
shoulders through the late
snow, downing a shot of
sunshine, spitting at the
wind that tries to drive him to
his knees, marching point
on the frontier of spring,
whipping winter in
final, humbling defeat.